


A Meeting with Sisyphus

by OrangeGrove_Girl



Series: Soldered Wires [1]
Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Canon Compliant, Five Nights at Freddy's: Ultimate Custom Night, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Soldered Wires
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-24
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 23:28:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28946673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrangeGrove_Girl/pseuds/OrangeGrove_Girl
Summary: William finds himself in a fresh new hell
Relationships: Michael Afton & William Afton | Dave Miller
Series: Soldered Wires [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2123121
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	A Meeting with Sisyphus

**Author's Note:**

  * For [preetkiran1016](https://archiveofourown.org/users/preetkiran1016/gifts).



He couldn’t remember how long he was in there.

In the panic and fear and pain.

After the first few hundred deaths, it was obvious that time was meaningless. He would wake up in that office; be in the jaws of another one of the machines he helped create; scream and bleed, clawing helplessly at unflinching steel-

Yet the Sisyphean cycle would repeat itself again.

- _and again_

- ** _and again_**.

He waited, and waited, as the time ticked by, and he reset the ventilator-

Maybe this time he could make it through the night, as long as the music box stayed _fucking shut for once-_

The vent slammed.

He froze, camera screen turning to static as a manic giggling erupted overhead.

_“Now I get to play take-apart-and-put-back-together! You won’t feel a thing."_

“MOTHER FU-”

He felt the desk break under his weight, Mangle’s jaw closing around his neck, the ‘snap’ of his bones ringing in his ears even as the darkness takes him yet again.

\----

Waking up at the beginning of the night, sore and unhappy, and forced to repeat it all over again was par for the course.

Just another part of his miserable existence.

This was the first time in a long time where William wasn’t immediately back in the fray of flashing red lights and slamming vents.

He cracked one eye open, braced for a new sort of nightmarish hell-

And found himself in a place familiar to his old, rotten soul.

A manager’s office.

Not his, of course. His office was far more… polished. Clean. Sophisticated.

This was one of the many offices designed for the pizzerias: claustrophobic, cramped. Barely big enough to hold four people standing, but just enough space to work in, if you squeezed. Which one, he couldn’t tell. He had visited so many of them over the years, travelling with Henry, that they all just blurred into one collective image. Cookie-cutter and predictable.

Much like the faces of those he took joy in firing in this room.

This office was no exception. Gray file cabinets full of employee records and Fazbear Entertainment’ official paperwork lined the wall on his left. A clock leaned precariously on the closest cabinet, the hands missing.

Not like it mattered, given his circumstances.

The opposite wall was a mishmash of everything he could think of: children’s poor attempts from the Xeroxed coloring book pages; plaques awarding the pizzeria for its bare minimum performance; company issued art of Freddy Fazbear and the Pizzeria Crew (judging by the art, it was the god forsaken one that survived after his merry romp in ’87); miscellaneous flyers for upcoming employee events; health code and employee right printouts (that were very much ignored), and a large schedule calendar of employee shifts, down to the hasty scribbles of sudden schedule changes and sticky notes of reminders for employees.

The checkered carpet needed a wash (and a vacuum, from what he could feel under his shoes).

Honestly, it was disgusting.

He sneered. When he ran the diners, true, he was chucking off a kid here and there, but at least he had _standards._

In front of him the mahogany desk was littered with paperwork and pizza stains. He could see the prepared notepads of pink slips and the missing person’s reports nearby. A small radio teetered on the right corner of the desk. Two phones sat in the opposite corner, one a novelty Freddy Fazbear phone, the one assigned for contacting the other departments in the pizzeria; the other, a standard office phone with a record machine and call hold functionality, assigned for customer complaints and calls from the higher ups. The novelty phone was in its place, the cord spilling over from the desk; the office one’s handset from missing from the base, its cord leading William’s eye towards the large leather office chair that was facing the back wall.

It occurred to him at this point he was sitting in the employee designated chair, a mere school chair, too small for most employees to sit comfortably.

He had enjoyed the power play in life, towering over his employees while sitting above the like a lord bestowing his eternal wrath.

He despised it from this angle.

William was a tall man in his former life, and sure enough he looked ridiculous; his knees were struggling in this tiny excuse for a chair, coming up to his chest and almost knocking into his chin. He attempted to stand up, but found himself in a situation very familiar: legs refusing to move and his rump refusing to leave the seat. All he could do was flail his upper body around like a rag doll. Except now, he was going to have a field day with this ridiculous chair.

Wherever he was, it was much like the hell office: someone wanted him there and someone didn’t want him to leave.

_God, he could strangle somebody already._

In a moment, the sound creeped back into the world.

The clock on the wall ticked, 

the radio, though quiet, played a classic 80s station,

_and then…_

**_he heard HIS voice…_ **

“… No, I understand, he just got in here”

Someone was in the office chair, using the phone.

There was no denying it.

Who _that voice_ belonged to.

He was laughing now. “No, no, I’ll be fine, Gabriel, just keep the party going while I’m gone. I just need a word with him.”

He knew that voice.

He could never forget it.

After all, he raised that voice. _He changed his diapers._ ** _He picked up his sorry excuse when he dropped out of high school._**

“Well, well….” The man interrupted his increasing rage. A hand placed the phone back onto the hook “I have to say, Mr. Afton, we’re finding your performance quite unsatisfactory during your night shifts”

William could hear him flipping through some papers; no doubt he was just fooling around. Just to fuck with him.

_Impertinent Brat._

He was done playing this game of pretend with him…

**“Michael….”**

The silence between them stretched thin. Tenuous.

He didn’t have to see it to know that Michael was smiling.

The cheeky little shit.

The chair turned.

William saw a face that he knew,yet had never seen before in his life.

For the longest time, it was almost looking into a mirror with Michael. Out of all his children, the boy grew up looking identical to him (and yes, that was his own fault after having to constantly…. well, update him after the accident) And that scared William. Because whenever he saw Michael, William always saw a younger version of himself, and all the things that he hated about himself.

His sensitivity.

_His fears._

**_His humanity._ **

William could admit he took a lot of his insecurities out on Michael over the years. All because of this mirror image he projected of his youthful self.

But things were different now.

The last time he saw his son, well, more or less “alive”, he was a broken mess eternally stuck in his young adult body.

Skin purple from rot, concealer melted from sweat and reeking like a corpse. His limbs were thin and sinewy, barely held together, but still strong enough to hold him at bay.

His eyes were barely functioning anymore, pools of inky darkness, reflecting the light like saucers and sunken into his skull.

He had even been wearing a wig to hide that his hair had fallen out years ago. The suit he chose to wear was much of a train wreck as his appearance: baggy, hanging off his skeletal frame and tied off at his waist with a belt two sizes too big. In the most disgusting shade of green, to boot!

The man who faced him now was different.

Was whole.

It dawned on William that Michael was only a few years older than he was when he died. This new version of him showed it: His skin was full of life, but showing his age. He had crow’s feet and some noticeable lines around that smile of his. He wasn’t a sad excuse for a skeleton, but a full, flesh and blood man.

He noticed, belatedly, that Michael had gained more muscle than he ever had.

His eyes seemed to smile too, gleaming a pale blue back at William’s matching pair. His brown hair was back. Although it wasn’t the mullet he expected Michael to have. It was thick, with the areas closest to his ears greying. Maybe in a few years, it would be silver.

Even the suit he wore seemed like it was made for him: a blue violet lapel suit that was unbuttoned, showing a clean white work shirt and a tacky patterned tie that matched the color of his suit.

He always had a shitty taste in fashion.

It’s almost as if he never died.

Like their roles were reversed.

That now, he was the reflection of everything Michael hated about himself.

A creeping sense of dread washed over William.

_He didn’t like this._

Michael smiled.

“Hello Father”

**Author's Note:**

> .3." my first fanfiction in a long time. let me know what you think
> 
> special thanks to my best friend preetkiran1016 for editing this & basically helping me start our own FNAF canon
> 
> follow our madness at:
> 
> https://preetsramblings.tumblr.com/  
> https://superspazcatart.tumblr.com/


End file.
